


Flirting with Danger

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clubbing, Dancing, M/M, Sexual Tension, Simulated Orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s slouched at the corner of the bar when the mirror flickers; the flickers reflect themselves onto him, crawl over his skin and through the pores down into his blood, and Rin turns around—and sees dangerous. Most favorable dangerous. Perfect dangerous. Perfect everything: he always has been, ever since they were kids, only he didn’t know it then.</p><p>Something tells Rin that Tachibana Makoto knows it now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flirting with Danger

**Author's Note:**

> I am the actual worst. Here, have another rewrite of a fic originally done for another fandom. OTL. But seriously, how could anyone ever resist [this](http://s23.postimg.org/lm6p4yv55/makotodancing.gif)?   
>  Credit/blame to twisted_sheets for enabling me.   
>  (If you're looking for the Hetalia version, it's [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/143240).)

It's thick-going on the dance floor tonight, like walking in water up to your waist. Rin hitches his step, twists and slides instead of pushing, and the crowd is still thick but the going is smoother. He wonders if this is how swimming was invented—someone thought to dance in water. He wonders, too, if what he's feeling is what the DJ sees from up in the booth every night, what he's seeing right now: a human body of water, flowing and dipping and swelling.

Rin swims. Even when he feels toes on his heel, an elbow in his ribs, hands on his hips, he glides through. No danger of drowning. No danger at all. 

And that's the problem, because Rin has always loved to flirt with danger. But he's a shark in a tank of fish here: no competition, no challenges. No one ever gets away from Rin here. Well, except that one sleek dolphin boy who never comes around anymore…

He glances at the door. There was a time when he used to wait for Haru to walk through it again. He's definitely not waiting anymore but he does wish someone new would show up, make things interesting.

Need a drink, he decides. He usually doesn't drink when he needs one, only when he wants one, to keep it fun and pleasure, not to become a slave to need or need's cousin, misplaced desire. But this time, just this once, Rin figures it's all right to give in to need.

He's slouched at the corner of the bar when the mirror flickers; the flickers reflect themselves onto him, crawl over his skin and through the pores down into his blood, and Rin turns around—and sees dangerous.

Most favorable dangerous.

Fucking perfect dangerous. Fucking perfect everything. He always has been, ever since they were kids, only he didn't know it then. 

Something tells Rin that Tachibana Makoto knows it now.

He's moving on the dance floor and Rin supposes you could call that dancing, if you have no imagination. Rin imagines Makoto is fucking the air around him. Makoto is really into it now, the dance, the floor, the crowd, but Rin can still see him—Makoto is the perfect height to rub up against and be seen rubbing up against. He's vibing it: _Come rub up against me, if you dare._

Rin has never been one to turn down a dare.

He keeps his eyes on Makoto as he approaches. Others, nearer to start, have approached as well, and Makoto is dancing with all of them and somehow with none of them. They're rubbing up against him but when Rin slides his eyes back up to Makoto's face, he sees there that none of them are really touching him.

Rin's eyes lock with Makoto's when he enters Makoto's space. There are other boys and girls between them but they're just atoms, molecules vibrating in the air. Rin doesn't dance with any of the boys and girls that Makoto isn't dancing with; Rin dances with the vibrating air, rubbing up against the same vibrations Makoto is.

Makoto smiles, perfect flash of teeth—fuck yeah, he's got teeth, this one has. He slides to Rin through the air, parting the molecules before him and leaving them trailing in his wake, gliding like a fish through water. No, not a fish: he's mammalian, Rin can tell, even before Makoto touches him. Hot-blooded with a mouth full of perfect teeth.

Rin smiles back sharp, shows off his own teeth.

When Makoto gets to Rin, he doesn't go for the flash of skin exposed across Rin's belly by his shimmying overhead stretch—no, Makoto goes for Rin's overhead wrist instead. Winding his fingers around, Makoto presses against bone, presses against pulse. Molecules, Rin thinks as Makoto rubs his thumb over the jutting bone at the side of Rin's wrist. Molecules and atoms and lower down (and Makoto is moving lower down, his fingers slipping down Rin's arm, over skin not slick but damp with dance-sweat) sub-atomic particles. Quarks. A world where "can't" and "does" are simultaneous, sharing the same space at the same time, opposite and one at once. Rin doesn't really understand physics but there's a beauty there, and even though Rin doesn't really understand beauty either, he can appreciate it.

Makoto's fingers trip off his arm, along his shoulder and around back. Rin arches concave, chin tilting up to create a soft pocket of skin at his nape. Accepting the invitation, Makoto snugs his thumb in the folds of Rin's skin and rubs.

Rin exhales when Makoto lets go. He's sure he was breathing the whole time but he doesn't specifically remember. Makoto moves his hands to Rin's hips but instead of moving Rin, he moves himself to Rin's rhythm, the one found in the bones of Rin's hips.

Keeping his arms overhead, Rin arches, pull and stretch of muscles through his torso, flickerings of strain as he bends himself back, cock vibrating with the beat, thickening with the weight of the bass line. Rin is upside-down and he can't see anything clearly and his head's heavier with blood than his cock; but he's not going to fall. Hands splayed at the small of his back tell him that he's not going to fall, not right now. You can let go, the fingers tell him through his skin. So Rin does.

He lets the hands bring him right-side-up. His gaze back to Makoto, Rin smiles.

Makoto smiles too but Rin's not sure it's for him because it's a gorgeous flash—but it doesn't seep into Rin's skin, doesn't join the flow of blood through aorta and ventricle, doesn't curl around his heart or lungs or small intestine or any of his organs. 

Then Makoto's hands fetch Rin to him, close enough for Rin to feel Makoto's cock with his own even through the molecules of denim and cotton between them, molecules of air pressed flat. Those molecules carry their vibrations to each other, the hum and heat of blood-swelled cocks. And there in Makoto's cock, Rin feels it: Makoto's blood-swollen smile, for him.

They're dancing, him and Makoto, belly to belly, not grinding, not quite, not yet; they're dancing. Rin splays his fingers over Makoto's hips for show, and then for support as he shimmies down into a crouch and tongues the button of Makoto's zip.

Smiling against the crotch he's nuzzling, Rin lifts the denim flap with his tongue and licks the metal teeth beneath it. But these aren't the teeth he wants to feel and he slides back up. Makoto isn't smiling but Rin looks at his mouth anyhow as he grinds against and with him, unable to tell which of them is harder. Makoto goes into an arch, dragging his hands up his own body, over the curved stretch of his torso, and the light catches his skin so that Rin can see the glistening. He wants to lick it but he settles instead for swiping his finger over it, feeling the slick warmth, the tremor along the skin. He licks Makoto's sweat off his fingertip. Watching Makoto watching him through half-lidded eyes, Rin feels the shiver and smile and scorch of his cock.

Rin forgets the pretense of dancing and pushes against Makoto. Maybe he'll push inside later, in the men's room—push his cock into Makoto's mouth, plunge past Makoto's teeth, into his warm, wet depths; or maybe flip him around and push him up against the wall, take him that way. But for now, Rin just pushes.

Makoto leans into him. "You want me to come?"

It's not all hot, breathy sex. There's something weirdly sweet buoying up the words. Turning now, Rin searches Makoto's face silently.

Makoto smiles and shrugs. "I can come, if you want."

"Can you really?"

"No." Makoto laughs. "But I can make everyone here, or whoever you're trying to impress, think I did. You want to be seen as the apex predator here, right? "

He cocks a grin at Rin. Sweet; sweet and a little rotten, a smile that could hollow you out, and Rin thinks Tachibana Makoto is like a hole in the head—but Rin has always had a sweet tooth, so he returns the grin. He's not trying to impress anyone except maybe himself, but it's such a sweet offer—"If you can do that," Rin says, "I'll get you off for real in the men's room."

Makoto smiles again and shakes his head. "I want to go back to your place."

Rin looks him up and down. "Okay then. Make it good."

With the opening beat of the next song, Makoto turns his head and tilts his mouth to bite the side of Rin's thumb. Something coils in Rin's balls. Makoto's teeth are pressing right at the edge of the nail the way Rin sometimes bites his own thumb, and he can't remember if he bit it that way tonight or if this is coincidence.

Rin thrusts his hips against Makoto. There's a wet drag of flesh as he draws his thumb from Makoto's teeth and brings it to his own mouth, bites down, drawing a droplet of blood as he punctures the skin; he licks it from his thumb, keeps his blood for himself. 

Makoto is looking at him beneath closed eyes. Rin can feel the gaze. He feels Makoto's blind cock, too, hard against him. Rin is pretty sure he's harder than Makoto right now but it's difficult to tell, cock-to-cock and all this denim between them, denim and whatever material Makoto is wearing beneath his jeans, if anything.

Suddenly Rin has to know how many molecules are between his cock and Makoto's, so he slides his middle finger down Makoto's back and Makoto shivers, undulating for show—yeah, show them all. But Rin doesn't look to see if they're all watching what they're being shown. He slides his finger down and he doesn't stop when he bumps into Makoto's waistband; he goes beneath it, along skin warmer and damper, sliding sweat-slick along Makoto's crack. Nothing but Makoto here.

Curving his finger to a sharper angle than the curve of Makoto's arse, Rin pushes, and it's not for show, this jerk and undulation. Makoto's open mouth opens wider, and Rin skims his glance from Makoto's perfect teeth to Makoto's open eyes; Makoto stares down and Rin stares up, his own bared teeth. Makoto doesn't blink. Rin's eyes glitter.

Makoto flickers into a smile and licks his upper lip, slow and smooth, lingering at the corner before he pulls his tongue back inside his mouth.

Rin pushes his thrilled cock against this perfect, dangerous boy. Fingers curled in Makoto's belt loops, he tugs down, bending Makoto to him, bending his knees to control Makoto's movements, bringing Makoto where Rin wants him, face-to-face. Going with Rin's pushing and pulling, Makoto winks at him and Rin shivers, not in control.

He feels a little dangerous himself. He's his own danger tonight. He holds Makoto here where he wants him, not above him and not kneeling, not yet, because when Makoto kneels—and he will—it will not be for show. It will be for Rin. 

Eyes closed, he leans into Makoto and moves his mouth not against Makoto's, but against the molecules of air darting in and out of Makoto's mouth. "Now. Do it now"—

Makoto tips his head back in assent. He keeps tipping as he rises, neck arching, throat exposed, and it's almost like obedience. But Rin knows it's only part of the show. He knows in his head—but his cock, believing the show, arches and curves hard, trapped. Makoto's body follows the arch he has started. His fingers slide up his own body, occasionally slipping onto Rin's; his hands glide over his skin and through the air and meet each other overhead, crossing at the wrists and holding there for a heartbeat, and another. Then Makoto's hands slice down, heavier than the vibrating molecules of air, and re-cross low at his back. His torso ripples with the undulations. His head tips back, his upturned brow knits smooth serenity into something else, hooking vibrations out of the air, weaving rapture onto his face.

A vein throbs along the arched side of Makoto's throat and, since Makoto is not the only predator here tonight, Rin takes it for himself. He presses his finger hard to the pulse: the pulse throbs beneath him, Makoto and his blood thrumming.

Makoto's body starts to jerk to the rhythm of his pulse. He goes out of rhythm with the bass line in favor of obeying the pulse in Rin's fingertip. Makoto's orgasm is at the tip of Rin's finger and Rin slides along it, caresses and scrapes, drops his hand away and licks the thrum, mouths Makoto's pulsation, bites down. He feels Makoto spasming, all out of rhythm, going all out—

Rin leans back and watches Makoto twist and shudder to completion.

Complete illusion: Makoto is still hard when he brushes in against Rin, like his cock needs to tell Rin's a secret.

Then Makoto is twisting down, slow and smooth, until he's on his knees, gazing up at Rin, lips curling into a smile only Rin can see. Makoto smiles and Rin shudders, feeling those teeth.

Rin reaches down and twists into strands of hair, pulling Makoto up by them. Letting his fingers drip down Makoto's back, Rin slips beneath denim, over skin and the ridge of hip bone. His fingers dig into the bone; his other hand brushes over his own cock, and he thinks his blood is harder than marrow, his cock is harder than bone. "Men's room," he whispers, leaning up to Makoto.

Makoto shakes his head. "Your place."

Rin starts to say no—but Makoto's arm has circled around him when he wasn't looking. Makoto is under his denim; he pinches Rin's bone, and Rin whines. "Yours," Makoto says, and Rin looks at him.

He looks at Makoto; even when his eyes flicker, they stay on Makoto.

Outside Makoto smiles his orca smile and laughs, and Rin thinks, _fuck you_. He doesn't know whether he means it for Makoto or himself. Fuck you, he thinks again, and smiles too.


End file.
